Vincent van Gogh, Self-portrait (1889)
Scars, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Look at my ancient legs and arms now tired,
Which carry scars received during my life,
Yet those inside most painfully acquired.
My heart being stabbed with a verbal knife.
Of many I’ve loved the deepest was you,
The sight of your beauty my heart did quake.
My many words of love to you were true.
In your slightest absence my heart would ache.
You touched me with an ever glowing smile,
The laughter was music to me unknown.
Of your love for me was quick denial,
Now within my chest is a harden stone.
For many, the world of love is cruel,
For me, I am the perpetual fool.